Chapter 56
It was the day I had anxiously awaited, yet solemnly dreaded. It was the day I would commit the terrible acts that would bring an end to this madness that had entered my life. Upon awakening that morning, I laid in bed for a few minutes, thinking about the coming day and what it would entail. I blinked my eyes, trying to rehydrate my contacts, which I have a habit of leaving in for too long. Within a few seconds, I could sense the smoothness and slipperiness returning to them, replacing the sticky and gritty sensation that always seemed to threaten to fuse eyelid to eyeball as punishment for the laziness I’d demonstrated by not removing the lenses the night before.
After accomplishing this first mundane, but necessary, task, I began considering my schedule for this very important day which would climax late in the evening with a horrific act of double homicide. I knew it would be a nightmarish ordeal that would leave me with an emotional scar I would wear for the rest of my life, and without the best friend that had meant so much to me over the years. On the other hand, I knew my actions that night would finally cleanse the infectious stain that had taken root in the fabric of my life, and progressively grown and spread its darkness all around as it struggled to consume me. I knew if I continued to allow the pitch-black tentacles to invade my life any further, it would completely destroy my peace of mind and my family’s happiness forever.
It was a Friday, so my office would close at noon. I had carefully arranged my call schedule and managed my labor inductions and surgeries to avoid having responsibilities at the hospital for the weekend. This left me free to arrange a hiking and camping trip with Hank in the mountains of southeastern Oklahoma. The plan was for me to finish up at the office by 1pm, at which point Mandy would drive me to Hank’s house in Paris. Mandy and I had invented a story of a fictitious weekend trip that she would be making to Hot Springs, Arkansas, where she would stay the weekend with her sister Lauren, who lived there with her family. Hank knew that I couldn’t stand Lauren. Furthermore, he knew that for me, visiting her for the weekend would be akin to signing up as a participant in a medical study involving electrical shock therapy to the nipples and gonads, so he had no problem providing me with an alternate plan for the weekend. Maybe, I thought, I shouldn’t be taking him out. I mean, what’s wrong with a best buddy who gets a little blood on his hands from time to time if he was willing to help a brother out when called upon? No, I decided—he had gone too far around the bend, and I couldn’t keep the sicko alive just so he could provide me with an alternative to hanging out with my less-desirable members of my extended family. As was true with most stressful experiences in my life, I tended to look for a bit of humor during difficult times to distract me from the brownish cloud that seemed to follow me while it rained droplets of liquid shit upon my head.
Because Paris was not far off of Interstate 30, which she’d be taking on her way to Hot Springs, Mandy would be dropping me off at Hank’s place that afternoon and then picking me up on her way back through town as she returned back home on Sunday evening. This would give Hank and me a Friday night to hang out at his place and two days to hike in some gorgeous country to the northwest of Paris. The purpose of this particular charade was to arrange a situation where I would be at Hank’s place, but I would not have my vehicle parked in his driveway, where neighbors would see it and later recall, when questioned by the police, that Hank had entertained company other than Jodi on the fateful evening.
On the night that Mandy and I ate dinner with Hank at The Londoner, I had waited for Mandy to go to the ladies’ room and then dropped an idea on him. I had proposed that, in order to let him and Jodi know I was sorry for being judgmental regarding their activities, I wanted to grill some Wagyu steaks and treat them to a great meal. As Hank knew, I was an aspiring home grilling chef and I’d pretty much perfected the art of grilling steaks, potatoes, and veggies on the grill in my backyard. I’d explained that I felt badly for how I’d spoken to Jodi and how I’d given him so much shit about what he’d been up to. He had agreed to accept the gesture, and, when we’d talked a week later about setting up the hiking trip, we both agreed that the Friday night before we left for Oklahoma would be the perfect night for our ‘bury the hatchet’ meal. Unbeknownst to him, I would truly be committing acts that evening that, while not precisely the same, could easily be compared to the burying of hatchets—in the Lizzie Borden sense of the phrase. My instruments of death that evening would include pharmaceutical grade poison and a shotgun, rather than any hatchets. However, the scene I would leave upon exiting Hank’s abode would be just as grisly as the scene the famous murderess Lizzie had left on the night she had performed the famous atrocity on her parents.
*****
I had, of course, explained my mission to Mandy as I had worked out the details. She, too, was sickened by what our friend Hank had become, and knew as I did that he had to be stopped. Having the insight and understanding that came with being privy to the terrible stories I’d told her about Hank and his latest compulsive pursuit, she understood the very real danger he had exposed me—and therefore, our family—to. We drove along I-30 that afternoon, trying to make conversation about anything other than what we knew would transpire between the time that she dropped me off at Hank’s house and the time that she would pick me up. Of course, we’d already finalized the details of my extraction from the grisly scene which I would create. We didn’t know the exact timetable for the evening, so we’d agreed to meet between ten o’clock and midnight at a small nature preserve near Hank’s home where my family and his had hiked and picnicked on multiple occasions during years gone by.
Mandy could tell I was almost physically sickened by my task for the evening, so she did what she could to distract me from my intrusive thoughts about how the scene would play out. We had already discussed, on numerous occasions, the small possibility that something could go wrong with my plan. I promised her I would abort the mission at the first sign that I had failed to accurately predict what would go down or miscalculated a response by Jodi or Hank that would put my objective at risk. I wanted her to know that the one outcome I could absolutely guarantee was that I would survive the evening. Furthermore, I assured her I would avoid leaving any physical evidence that I’d been present or had been involved, in any way, in the violent altercation that would result in the demise of Hank and his poisonous pet viper named Jodi. To these ends, we had, over the previous evenings at home, reviewed the relatively simple plan which I intended to implement precisely and effectively.
As we drove, Mandy methodically brought up topic after topic that were clearly meant to get my mind off the mission. It was as if she had compiled a mental list of pertinent subjects, including updates on each of the kids, my practice, and the list home projects that seemed to always loom in the not-too-distant future. The latter subject led me to piss and moan for more than a few moments about the fact that we seemed to continuously be dumping money into repairs to the sprinkler system, the pool pump, the hot tub heater, and/or one of the four A/C units at our not-so-humble abode. As usual, she reminded me of the eternal truth, to which I could never quite find a satisfying reply.
“Mo’ money—mo’ problems,’” was all she had to say.
“Ain’t dat da trufe,” was the best I could do.
Interestingly, she did bring up one issue of which I had previously been unaware. It was one that, strangely, had special significance on this particular day, due to the history I had shared with my not-so-long-for–this-world compadre. Ryan, my oldest child, and my reason for having such a dangerous entanglement with Hank in the first place, had been seeing someone new. This was totally news to me.
Following the untimely death of her young husband, she had immersed herself into her career, a fact which had made us incredibly proud. Upon finishing her physician assistant program at the top of her class, she had been recruited by MD Anderson in Houston to be part of their team of cancer fighting medical providers. Once there, she had quickly impressed the
elite oncological physicians and administrators and had been given supervisory and leadership roles which allowed her to be involved in the care of thousands of cancer patients. She had even been chosen, after just her third year of working there, as the top non-physician medical provider for the organization at their annual awards banquet.
I had always known she had little time for socializing and this was part of her deliberate effort to avoid another romantic relationship after the disaster that was her first marriage. According to Mandy, however, she had recently relaxed her guard long enough to let another man into her life and she’d been seeing him for over a month. Apparently, she saw great promise in this relationship and intended to bring him home soon in order to introduce him to the family. This brought a smile to my face and helped me to see that my intervention on her behalf represented much more than the first step down the slippery slope of Hank’s homicidal addiction. It had also successfully brought hope of a bright and happy future to an incredible young woman who would have otherwise been doomed to a life of disappointment, danger, and fear for her safety, as well as the safety of her future children.
Chapter 57
“Listen Hank,” Mandy said, “I don’t want to show up here on Sunday night and see a hearse parked in your driveway with my dead husband inside. I’m counting on you to keep his clumsy ass from venturing too close to a cliff, or from passing out face first in the campfire in a drunken stupor tomorrow night at your campsite.” She could be a little dramatic about it, but I had definitely given her reason, over the years, to suggest that my habitual disregard of potentially dangerous situations could leave me susceptible to certain—shall we say—bad outcomes.
“Mandy, Mandy, Mandy,” Hank replied, “you know I’ve got my brother’s back! I’ve pulled buddies back from the door of a Huey chopper with hostile fire coming in over the jungles of El Salvador and Honduras. You know I’m not gonna let Marky do anything stupid. Even if he tries to ass fuck a mountain goat or something, I’ll keep him from making any life-threatening mistakes. I’ll watch out for any rival males and keep him from getting gored in the back while he does his thing—you can count on me!”
“Okay then,” Mandy responded, “once again I’m feeling confident that Marky-Mark is in great hands. Mark, I’m going to smell your dick when I pick you up Sunday and if it smells like a mountain goat cooter you are in big trouble.”
Jumping into the fray of obscene implications, but not with particular comedic prowess, Jodi said, “Well, I’m gonna smell Hank’s dick and Mark’s butt when they get home and see if there are any similarities. I’m a little suspicious that these queers are venturing into the wild without inviting me!”
Hank, Mandy, and I all traded looks and suppressed laughter for a few seconds, then force out enthusiastic courtesy laughs.
“Wow, Jodi,” I said, between feigned chortles, “you funny, gir’! You are really fitting in with the rest of us comedic sickos. I think I’m gonna encourage my brotha’ Hank to keep you ‘round.”
Not realizing that this was actually meant as a compliment, Jodi decided to change the group dynamic and assert herself by saying, “Oh, now—come on Mark. I think you know that I don’t need any validation from you. I’m completely secure in my relationship with Hank. I’ll let you know, though, if I ever need you to talk to him for me.”
It was as if someone had walked up to a record player that was playing a pleasantly familiar ballad, then grabbed the tonearm and raked the needle back and forth across the spinning record. The conversation literally screeched to a halt and a confused mood overtook the three of us who had received Jodi’s ill-timed message of unmasked jealousy and hostility.
“Okay,” Mandy said, “I guess I’ll be off. Mark and Hank, you two behave yourselves and please be very careful tomorrow and Sunday. Oh yeah, Jodi, I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to see you again, so adios to you as well. You all have fun tonight. Mark told me what he has prepared for you, so I know that you are in for a totally killer meal. Don’t stay up too late.”
Freudian slip, I wondered? Not likely. I had to resist the urge to chuckle at her choice of words.
Mandy and I kissed goodbye and she made sure that I had gotten everything out of the back of her Porsche Cayenne before climbing into the driver’s seat. Within seconds she was pulling out onto Rockway Drive and speeding out of sight.
“So, where do you want me to put my stuff
, Hanky boy? I want to get set up as soon as possible so I can get to work lighting the grill. It’ll take about 30 or 40 minutes to get the coals ready,” I said.
“I’ve got you set up in the guest room over the garage,” he replied.
Calling this living space a guest room was a bit of an understatement. The guest quarters were actually made up of a 1600 square foot apartment with two large bedrooms, a large living room with its own entertainment center, and a complete kitchen of its own.
“Sweet!” I said. “That way I can walk around naked without Jodi having to see my wiener. Plus, I won’t have to listen to the two of you bumpin’ uglies after we go to bed. I’m still a bit traumatized by that time you two were in the adjoining room when we went to Cancun with you.”
“Always such a jealous little asshole!” Hank commented. “Well, I hope that you and your wiener are comfortable above the garage. You go stow your shit and I’ll take the food inside and start pouring some drinks. Cap’n Morgan and Diet Coke good for you?”
“Absolutely! Thank you, good sir,” I answered.
There was no reason that Hank would go digging through my cooler, but the fact that he would be bringing it inside in my absence made me a bit nervous. I had placed several items within the internal compartments of the cooler which could raise suspicion if he were to encounter them. I had no legitimate reason to object to him helping deliver the goods to his kitchen, however, so I just had to act like it was no big deal and accept the assistance as offered. Was it too much to hope for that Jodi would choose this moment to announce to him that she’d discovered the secret to female ejaculation, which she wanted to demonstrate to him as soon as he could possibly break himself away from his volunteer cooler transport duties? Probably!
Oh well, I inaudibly consoled myself, Fate is either with me or against me. It’s go time, though. Whatever happens, I’ll just have to deal with it!
Chapter 58
The coals were looking perfect and the steaks had been expertly seasoned, so it was nearly time to get the top shelf beef on the grill. I felt like I had a brick in my stomach due to my nervousness and wondered how I was even going to consume my meal in order to maintain the appearance that nothing out of the ordinary was up. I had already been served two cocktails, which I had decided would be my limit for the evening. I needed to keep my wits about me in order to ensure that I didn’t overlook any details of the plan leading up to or, even worse, after the death of my two dinner companions. I knew the worst thing that could happen, for instance, would be for me to leave some type of physical evidence at the crime scene that would connect me to the murders. If I was sloppy in any way, the cops would possibly come looking for me as the perpetrator, instead of buying into the sham that I had worked to create which would, hopefully, lead them to chalk the incident up to an extreme and unfortunate case of domestic violence.
A thought occurred to me as I stood at the sink and washed the ears of corn that I would soon be roasting on the grill outside. I had made the assumption that Hank’s double-barreled Remington 12-gauge shotgun was in the coat closet just inside the front door, where he had kept it since I had first visited him at his Paris home. I would be needing the gun to perform the final coup de grace on Hank. The trap I was setting for him and Jodi was time sensitive, so I wouldn’t be able to spend any significant time looking around for a gun. Firearms were in no short supply at Hank’s house. He probably had a handgun stashed in most of the rooms throughout the house, and he had a small armory of AR-15’s, AK-47’s, and other tactical rifles and ca
rbines in his locked gun room, which was basically a giant, walk in gun safe. I’d be able to find a handgun without much searching, but my plan included the shotgun, so I decided I needed to confirm its presence in the closet
I shut off the water at the sink and dried my hands. I glanced into the great room and saw the backs of Hank’s and Jodi’s heads. They were watching The Fox News Channel and they seemed to be listening intently to the talking head on the TV screen. I turned and walked toward the alternate kitchen door, swung the bi-fold doors open, and walked down the main hallway of the house to the foyer. Through the beveled glass panes of the front door, I could see that night was falling, so I flipped a light switch on the wall and saw the front entryway become instantly bathed in a soft white light from the chandelier hanging above the partially enclosed front porch. I then opened up the coat closet and searched the darkness within for the weapon. My eyes had not adapted to the darkness and I couldn’t initially see the shotgun, so I reached in and slid my hands along the inner walls. Almost immediately, I felt the cool steel of the twin barreled shotgun. I breathed a sigh of relief and began to shut the door and turn away from the closet.
Another important thought occurred to me, however, and I knew that I hadn’t yet confirmed that the gun would be ready to use when I needed it. I reached back inside the closet and lifted the gun by its grey steel barrels. I cradled it in my arms and admired its simple elegance. I knew it was a classic 1894 model which Hank had inherited from his grandfather. It was, according to him, well used when he received it. His grandfather had relied on it for decades to help him put food on the table and sustain his family’s meager existence. Following his grandfather’s death, Hank had received the gun. He had immediately sent it to a well-known firearm restoration outfit, where the nicked and worn wooden stock was replaced with a beautifully stained, brand new maple component, which was an exact replica of the gun’s original butt stock. The scuffed and scarred barrels had been buffed and polished to the point that no imperfections could be seen in the dark grey steel, and it looked as if the weapon had never been taken out of its case. To honor his grandfather, he had commissioned the gunsmiths to etch ‘Rufus Simmons: 1908-1993’ along the side of each of the barrels.
Fatal Flaws Page 37